Four
by Genis Aurion
Summary: [slash, CraigTweek, darkfic]. Four. Not more, not less. All it took was four pints.


I had help with this, mainly because I'm not familiar with this whole genre of suicidal thoughts. However, it was a challenge to match my reader's display picture on msn, and I think I've sorta succeeded? I dunno. And I think I butchered Tweek too, but hey; that's how I learn.

since this is a SubWar and not a oneshot war...

Style-xx: 4  
Zak: 5

* * *

**Four  
**_Zakuyoe_

I can never stand hearing a broken faucet.

_Plink… Plink… Plink… Plink…_

It just seems that that single drop of water falls over and over again, as if it _wants_ to annoy me.

It's almost like the sound of heavy rain as it pounds on my mom's car roof. Though the rain's drops reverberate in my ears much more quickly than the single drop of water from a faucet it's still the same concept. I'm not insane, I promise; but I don't understand what makes me so frustrated with repeating noises.

Kind of like how Clyde taps his foot in class. Or even, how Kenny clicks his pen in English class, whenever I'm actually paying attention.

_Click, click! Click, click!_

There might be some disorder that deals with that, but I really don't bother trying to think of what it is—it's not important.

I scream loudly as I collapse to the ground—no one can hear me anyway. My parents are so fucking inattentive.

I don't think it helps that my mind plays like a broken record. I'm annoyed by recurring noises?—try listening to the same conversations repeatedly. And it's not only annoying, but distressing. Repeated conversations aren't the only thing that annoys me—I can hear that same bird making its bird call four times; I can hear Craig's cell phone ring four times consistently; I can hear him screaming a greeting not meant for loud noises—four times. I can hear myself call out to anyone who can hear me—four times.

My world is full of repeating noises. My alarm clock rings four times in the morning, the school bells consist of four long pulses, my teacher hisses a prolonged rendition of a sleeping student's name to get his or her attention—and each time I'm annoyed by its repetition.

Why won't it leave me alone?

In the road a car honks its horn four times. The repairman for the piano presses the same key four times every four minutes to test its sound. The four police cars that whiz by our house nightly replay the same siren; the cars broken into play that never-ending car alarm.

They tell me I'm ADD; am I OCD as well?

My mind repeats the same hurtful words over and over again.

"You're a fucking fag, Tweek."

And again.

"You're a fucking fag, Tweek."

Once more.

"You're a fucking fag, Tweek."

Why won't it stop?

"You're a fucking fag, Tweek."

And maybe he is right, I'm not sure. But I know Craig's out to ruin my life. He's forced me to watch the same horror movie, four times in a row. He's made me steal the four lawn gnomes from and old woman's home. He's made me lie to my parents about the bruises he's given me at least four times a week. He yells into my ear every fourth period for no reason in such a consistent way that it angers me.

Frankly I don't see why people won't take me seriously just because I'm ADD. I shouldn't have to be told everything four times to understand. I shouldn't have to tell my parents things four times for them to realize what I'm saying aren't ADD-induced outbursts.

Maybe I'm just tired of all this repetition. Maybe that's why I'm locked in my bathroom with a knife sitting on my bathroom counter. But I don't really think I've got any good reason to; despite what he's done to me, Craig's told me four times my life's not worth losing.

Maybe I'm doing it to prove him wrong. After all, it's only taken about four rounds of reflection to realize that I might be this "fag" he's talking about.

I like someone who abuses me. Maybe that's what's so fucked up about all this.

I decide there's nothing left to hang on to. Maybe in hell there won't be four screams of pain, four millions of people wandering helplessly, or four golf courses with sprouting fire.

Four seconds later I make four sets of parallel cuts down a fascinating blue vein. Four half minutes later I've lost too much blood. It gushes, almost spurts, four times for each beat, four times for every beat, all of them. I can hear my own heartbeat, and I can watch my own blood drain away.

Four pints later, I don't mind the sound of my blood as it drips from the bathroom counter onto the tiled floor.

_Plink… Plink… Plink… Plink…_


End file.
